In former days every tavern of repute kept such a room for its own select circle, a club, or society, of habitués, who met every evening, for a pipe and a cheerful glass.(..)Strangers might enter the room, but they were made to feel that they were there on sufferance: they were received with distance and suspicion.
Mulvaney continued— "Whin I was full awake the palanquin was set down in a street, I suspicioned, for I cud hear people passin' an' talkin'. But I knew well I was far from home. (..)
2012, B. M. Bower, Cow-Country (page 195)
"I've been suspicioning here was where they got their information right along," the sheriff commented, and slipped the handcuffs on the landlord.